


His Gold

by Baph, relcutantlyback (AzaWhite)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Domestic, Fluff, Gen, Innuendo, M/M, Mild Language, Pet Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-11 00:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18671413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baph/pseuds/Baph, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzaWhite/pseuds/relcutantlyback
Summary: Yuuri can’t help feeling nervous and awkward around the Russian skaters during his first few days in St. Petersburg. Thankfully, McDonald’s is an international favorite for cheat day meals. And besides, Viktor is there too.





	His Gold

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so happy to finally post my piece for [YOI Home Zine](%E2%80%9Dyoihomezine.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D). This fic was written for the Dom | дом edition, which focused on stories of home in Russia and other fantastical places. I have also had the immense privilege of collaborating with the amazing, wonderful, and talented [Baph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baph/profile)!
> 
> Many thanks to Baph for sticking with me and creating fabulous (and s o f t) art. A shout-out to my best friend for beta reading this (and pointing out my many oopsies). Thank you to all the YOI Home Zine mods for letting me be a part of this fantastic project alongside so many talented, kind artists and writers. And to all readers, whether you donated or are reading this for the first time here, thank you so much!

                As he laced up his skates and stepped onto the ice, Yuuri marveled at the grand Sports Champions Club rink. Even though he’d already been training there for a couple of days, the sheer enormity of it still stunned him. And of course, the fact that he was practicing in Viktor’s home rink never failed to make his inner fanboy light up with joy.

                Once he finished his warm-ups, he skated to the section of rail where Viktor stood, one finger tapping gently against his lip. “Well? Where should I start, coach?” Yuuri let himself purr the last word, knowing exactly how much Viktor loved to hear it. A faint blush rushed to his fiancé’s cheeks.

                Viktor leaned over the railing. He put his hands around Yuuri’s shoulders and leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “One of these days, you’re going to say that, and I won’t be able to stop myself, _dorogoy_.”

                This time, it was Yuuri who turned pink. He jerked back a little—just enough so that he wasn’t quite so close, but still within Viktor’s arms. “Not here,” he hissed, feeling his cheeks warm further. His coach pouted.

                “We’re alone though,” Viktor pointed out. “The others won’t be here for another hour and a half.”

                “That—that’s not the point!” Yuuri pulled back a little more, trying his best to ignore Viktor’s pout. “Coach Feltsman trusted us enough to arrange for us to use the rink for a couple hours before he comes in. We shouldn’t abuse that trust.”

                Viktor smiled slightly. “I guess… Okay! Let’s work on your short program step sequence. It was absolutely, what’s the English word—stilted! —at the Grand Prix. I want you to keep running through it until I say you can stop.”

                Yuuri nodded. Now that he’d memorized his routines and mastered most of his jumps, he rarely needed Viktor on the ice. Besides, Yuuri thought as he skated out to the center, it was probably for the best that his fiancé conserves more energy now that Viktor was competing as well.

                The familiar strums of the guitar echoed through the near-empty rink as Yuuri wrapped his arms around himself. He took only a moment to become immersed in the music. Only Viktor’s occasional shouted criticism alerted him to the passage of time. Yuuri danced and spun on the ice, taking full advantage of his high stamina to run through the Eros step sequence over and over. He imagined the endless haze of a night spent getting drunk, every pole dancing class, the heat of a night spent with Viktor. That, he knew, was his true _eros_ , his ultimate performance by which he’d finally win a gold medal. By the time his coach called him over for a break, nearly an hour had passed.

                “Very good, very sexy.” Viktor leaned over the barrier again. “I really _felt_ that performance,” he murmured, one hand tracing Yuuri’s collarbone, the other cupping his own chin.

                Yuuri gulped. “W-what next?”

                Viktor sighed and withdrew his hand. “So devoted. Hmm…quad flips. Land three or four in a row, then skate a few laps and try again. Let’s aim for…three rounds.”

                “Yes, coach!” Yuuri pushed off the rail and gathered speed, thinking only of the magnificent jump’s incredible height and power, imagining ice chips flying with the force of his takeoff. He began entry, and with a final push—

                He spun in midair once, twice, three times—four! He landed neatly on one foot, and immediately collected more speed for another jump. Yuuri finished the round and began skating laps, allowing himself to cool down a bit before attempting a second sequence.

                As he entered the next cycle of three jumps, the doors to the rink opened with a bang and a groan and a general clamor of voices and gear rustling in bags. Yuuri recognized Yurio’s shouts and what sounded like Georgi whimpering in pain. A distinctly feminine laugh—Mila, maybe—echoed over the two.

                Yuuri tried to mentally refocus. Now was not the time to lose concentration and flub a jump, not when the rest of the rink’s skaters had just arrived. He skated faster. He moved into the entry position, and out of the corner of his eye, spotted Coach Feltsman moving towards the rail. Pushing for liftoff, he pulled his arms in and jumped.

                Four tight rotations later, he came down hard, double-footing the landing in an effort to stay upright. Frowning, he gathered speed again, catching a glimpse of Viktor’s silvery hair as his fiancé turned to face his own coach. Coach Feltsman gestured wildly toward the ice. Yuuri flinched instinctively and managed only a triple before slamming onto the ice.

                “Yuuri!” Viktor’s voice wasn’t disappointed by any means, but Yuuri couldn’t help feeling wary as he skated towards his fiancé and Coach Feltsman.

                “Yes, Vitya?” He wrung his hands out of Viktor’s view.

                Coach Feltsman grunted, catching Yuuri’s attention, and in his heavy accent instructed him to get off the ice. Yuuri nodded quickly and moved to follow the order.

                As he cleaned off his skates and placed them in his bag, Yuuri noticed that nobody had taken his place on the ice. In fact, Yurio seemed to be engaged in a rather vicious shouting match with his coach, Mila and Georgi standing nearby, mouths agape. Viktor, on the other hand, was watching the confrontation with an amused look on his face.

                Yuuri shouldered his bag, prepared to relocate to the gym or dance studio. He caught Viktor’s eye, and moved to his side. “Where to, coach?”

                Viktor smiled. “Lunch!”

                The arguing between Coach Feltsman and Yurio came to an abrupt halt. Yuuri frowned. “It’s not even noon.”

                “No arguing, Yuuri!”

                “But—”

                “Later tonight, darling!”

                Yuuri felt his face turn bright red. He stammered something out, but it was drowned out by Yurio’s gagging noise.

                “Shut up, old man! There are other people around you two morons! Gross! I’m even a fucking minor!”

                Viktor smiled pleasantly, and it grew to a full-on heart-shaped grin as he spoke. “I should hope not; even if you’re at the age of consent, you’re our _kotyonok_ , so no.”

                “I’LL MURDER YOU, YOU GODDAMN PERVERT—!”

                Yuuri and Viktor made a quick escape, leaving Mila, Georgi, and an exasperated and somewhat terrified Coach Feltsman to deal with Yurio’s sudden, violent rage.

 

* * *

 

 

 

                By the time they had gathered outside the rink, Viktor had queued at least six restaurant websites on his phone. Yuuri watched with some amusement as his fiancé flicked through another food blog with sparkles in his eyes.

                “Yuuri, what do you think of this place? It’s a Korean place, Makko Li, and it’s got great reviews—here, look.” Viktor extended his phone long enough for Yuuri to catch a glimpse of a cozy brick interior before snatching it back to flip to a picture of a warm but sleek restaurant. “Or we could go to here, Phali Hinkali; it has nearly four hundred five-star reviews. But it is a cheat day, so maybe Italian? A plate full of carbs is a cheat day classic…”

                The sound of doors squeaking open caused Yuuri to glance up. Mila, Georgi, and a reluctant (and stomping) Yurio exited the rink, bags slung over their shoulders. The two older skaters stopped a few feet away from Yuuri and Viktor, allowing Yurio to come to a screeching halt only a couple inches from Viktor’s phone.

                “What are you doing, standing around like that, old man?” Yurio wasn’t yelling, but his harshness was still present. Yuuri noticed distantly that his face was still red from shouting. “You’re blocking traffic. Get out of my way.”

                Viktor looked up, the picture of innocence. “But Yurio—”

                “That’s not my name, damn it!”

                “—we’re all going to eat together! All five of us!” Viktor smiled brightly and walked past Yurio to put an arm around Georgi and Mila’s shoulders.

                Yurio bristled. Yuuri thought about taking a small step back from the blond ball of anger, but one glare from Yurio had him frozen.

                Viktor dragged Mila and Georgi over, nearly barreling into Yurio. “I’ll pay! Join us!”

                Yurio’s frown eased a bit. “Fine, but only because you’re paying. I still hate you all.”

                “Perfect!” Viktor smiled, but then frowned. “Where should we go _, moy dorogoy_?”

                Yuuri thought for only a moment. “McDonald’s. I haven’t had any since I left Detroit, and nothing comes close in unhealthy-cheat-day content.”

                Mila grinned. “…McDonald’s? As in the American burger chain? I’m in!”

                “Oh, I went there after Anya—” Georgi’s eyes began to water, but he quickly choked out assent to eating there. Yurio glared, but didn’t object, so they all began walking down the sidewalk. Mila and Yurio exchanged scathing insults, while Georgi and Viktor made pleasant small talk.

                Despite holding his Vitya’s hand, Yuuri felt isolated. Though Viktor and Georgi made the effort to speak in English, the overwhelming sound of Russian gnawed on his anxieties. At least when he’d moved to Detroit, he’d had a passable grasp of English. All the Russian he knew were pet names and a few choice curses. Before he could worry too much, Viktor squeezed his hand, and Yuuri refocused on Georgi’s somewhat animated tale of his first date with Katya, another woman unsuspecting of the skater’s flair for dramatics.

                By the time they reached McDonald’s, the lunch rush hadn’t quite started, so Yuuri walked right up to the counter. While menus varied slightly between countries, McDonald’s had a fairly standardized selection. Yuuri knew exactly what he wanted: a Big Mac easy on the mayo and liberal with the onions, a medium fry, and a large sweet tea. Viktor, to his credit, didn’t even blink as he placed the order, pausing for a moment after finishing.

                “Pick out my meal, Yuuri? I’m _starving_.”

                “Uh…I think you’ll like the mushroom and swiss.”

                Viktor pouted. “That’s it?”

                “You and your insanely fast metabolism,” Yuuri muttered. Clearing his throat, he added “Large fry and a small McFlurry, plus a cup for water.”

                “Sounds amazing!” They stepped aside for the others to order, and once Viktor swiped his card to pay, went in search of a table. Georgi and Mila slid into one side of a booth, leaving Viktor, Yurio, and Yuuri to split the other side of the booth.

                Yurio glared. “ _Idite vy_ ,” he hissed, but after a quick frown from Viktor, stalked off to retrieve their food. Viktor scooched all the way to the window, leaving Yuuri to plant himself solidly in the middle. The table was silent. Mila twisted to check on their order. Georgi tapped out a text.

                Viktor attempted to make small talk, but Yuuri couldn’t manage anything more than noncommittal mumbles. With the Russian skaters listening, Yuuri couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. Even though he knew they didn’t hate him, his mind kept going back to his failed quad flips, insisting they resented him for wasting ice time. And, his mind supplied unhelpfully, they had to hate him for bringing disgrace to the rink’s flawless and pristine image. Who was he, his brain mocked, to think he was good enough to practice at Russia’s premier rink—?

                Yurio slammed their trays down. A couple of fries on the top went flying in the air and skittered across the table. “Here’s the stupid food.” He flopped down next to Yuuri, grabbed his burger and drink, and began eating with fervor. The others blinked, and as if electrified by Yurio’s actions, began a mad scramble to properly identify which items were whose.

                Yuuri bit into his Big Mac and had to keep himself from moaning. Good old-fashioned American grease, Viktor by his side plowing through his fries…it was the subject of many a Detroit dream. The pleasant silence brought on by everybody eating calmed Yuuri’s nerves. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that he was back in America, in the McDonald’s just off campus, sinking his teeth into a meal Celestino would murder him for.

                Almost. Yuuri could not ignore Viktor’s knee against his, or the way his fiancé’s arm brushed against his own as Viktor reached for his McFlurry, or the twin glint of their rings as they caught the noon sun. It made an idyllic if somewhat bizarre scene, and as Viktor reached for another fry, Yuuri grabbed his hand.

                “Hmm? Is something the matter, my Yuuri?” Viktor frowned slightly in concern.

                Yuuri smiled softly. “I just feel so happy right now, Vitya.”

                Viktor blushed, a soft pink dusting his cheeks. His blue, blue eyes narrowed somewhat as he smiled. “I love you too, _zolotse_.”

                A muffled thump caught Yuuri’s attention. Mila had dropped her chicken tender, mouth still open. Georgi’s eyes became suspiciously bright, and sure enough, he began to cry.

                “Is something wrong?” Yuuri asked.

                “It’s just—” Georgi sniffled. “Such p-pure love!” He began to sob in earnest, fries long forgotten.

                Yurio made a gagging noise. “ _Blin_ , keep that romance shit at home, Viktor! Nobody wants to see that out in public.”

                “Mind your language, Yurio,” Viktor singsonged, narrowly dodging a fry flying towards his head.

                Yurio settled for making a rude gesture and refocusing on plowing through his remaining fries.

                “Um, Mila?” Yuuri asked, hyperaware of Georgi’s tears and Yurio’s volatile temper. “What does that mean, ‘ _zolotse_ ’? Vikor won’t translate it for me.”

                She stared for a moment, mouth still agape. “…gold. It means ‘my gold.’”

                Yuuri flushed, feeling his face turn red as the linoleum seats. “Really?” he asked, turning toward his fiancé. “But I haven’t won a gold yet.”

                Viktor flipped his hair, doing his best to act nonchalant. “Well, you know. I guess you at least got me a gold ring, so.”

                Yuuri smirked slightly, forgetting completely about their company. “Of course, Vitya. I love you too.”

 

 

                By the time everyone had finished their meal, Yurio, Mila, and Georgi were adamant about returning to the rink. Viktor, on the other hand, dragged Yuuri back toward their shared apartment. “I need a little ‘Yuuri’ time,” he’d said, drawing said man into a kiss.

As they walked hand-in-hand down the St. Petersburg streets, Yuuri thought about how nervous he’d been to move to Russia: how he’d worried Viktor’s rinkmates would hate him; that he’d miss Hasetsu excessively like he had in Detroit; that the language would be too hard to grasp; that despite Viktor’s presence, it wouldn’t feel like home.

But Mila and Georgi were openly welcoming (Yurio wasn’t even too hostile), he was slowly but surely picking up bits of Russian, and he didn’t miss Hasetsu the way he once had. His hometown would always be part of his heart, but now...

Yuuri gathered the courage to very quietly say, “ _Moy dom tam, gde ty_.” He burrowed his face into his coat, unable to look up thanks to his blush.

                Viktor’s step faltered for a beat but resumed its steady pace quickly. “I feel exactly the same way, my Yuuri. My life, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave kudos and/or a comment if you enjoyed!
> 
> Translations:  
> *dear  
> *kitten  
> *my dear  
> *go fuck yourself (implied, not stated)  
> *my gold  
> *damn  
> *my home is wherever you are


End file.
